My Letter
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: So what did happen to the letter Jubilee wrote Logan at the end of XMen Unlimited 25? Find out! FINISHED. Read, review please. Thank you!


My Letter

Author's note: Inspired by Megalictis. He came up with the idea, I just wrote it. I'm not sure if the first-person POV really works, so at some future point I might rewrite it in third person POV. Oh, and the letter is the one Jubilee wrote to Wolvie after the Wolve-Skrull imposter died. It's from the pages of X-Men Unlimited #25. Enjoy, all!---Jaenelle

It's lonely up here.

Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. I've always loved takin' trips upcountry ta my ol' Canadian stomping grounds. There's a freedom here, a sense of wildness and untamable spirit that I can't find back there at Chuck's. Up here, I can let my inner animal out to play; don't have to keep my instincts an' impulses so much in check. Here, I can kill my own food an' eat it raw, if I want to, without no fussy women goin' on 'bout germs an' stuff. I mean, fer cryin' out loud, I have a healin' factor. No germ's gonna stand a chance. You'd think they woulda learned that by now.

My cabin's got all the comforts of home (four walls, fireplace, little cot) without panderin' to my every need like Chuck's. It's spartan, by anyone's standards. Uncivilized, Wings called it once, but aw, fergit him, he's a pampered spoiled little rich boy who splits his time between Chuck's and that cushy penthouse apartment he shares with Paige. It's okay for him, but all that civilization would make me…uncomfortable.

The only homey comfort the cabin don't have is Jubes.

Which is why I'm standing here, drinkin' coffee out of a battered tin camp cup and feelin' lonely.

I never used ta be like this. Must be gettin' soft in my old age. Used to be, I'd go off on my own to be alone an' didn't come back till I was ready. Team got along fine without me. Didn't need me, not really. I didn't need them…not really. Then the kid came breezin' inta my life, chompin' gum an' shootin' her mouth off a million miles an hour…an' I suddenly found out what bein' responsible fer another life was like, an' what feelin' 'at home' was like. After I brought her to the mansion, suddenly it started feelin' more like home ta me just 'cause she was there.

I knew she was standin' there, watchin' me, long before I yanked myself offa that cross. She was watchin' me fer a long time. I could smell her, smell her indecision. I could also smell her fear. She was terrified of the Reavers, and afraid for me too. That was what finally gave me the courage ta yank myself off. An' I don't know what possessed me ta ask a damn kid fer help, but I did, an' she did. I don't have a real clear recollection of the next few days; some scattered memories of her holdin' a cup, helpin' me drink, wrappin' bandages around them still-bleedin' wounds, feedin' me. Me. The badass mutant with the claws who's never needed help before, suddenly dependin' on a little slip of a girl with a sarcastic mouth, a talent for stealin' an' hidin', and a heart o' gold. Betts told me later that she don't know how Jubes managed to hide from her psi-scans fer so long; the only explanation she could think of was that it had somethin' ta do with Jubilee's powers an' how they work.

Think I buy that? Nah. Betts is good, but she ain't at Jean's or Chuck's level. Jubes was jus' damn good at hidin'. If she don't wanna be found, she ain't gonna be if she can find a place big enough ta hunker down. She ain't never been able ta hide from me, though…but then again, I got senses that'll pick her scent up in a snowstorm.

I've brung her up here a coupla times. She's a SoCal girl through an' through, all right, but with a little teachin' she can camp rough out here fer a bit. But she's also a kid, an' I never keep her up here long. She's got more important things ta do than hang aroun' with an old guy like me. She don't seem to mind, but I do. I'll take her when she asks if she can come, but this time around she was lookin' forward ta some girly thing with Paige that Wings was gonna pay for, so I let her go to that spa-place to 'get pampered', as she put it, an' came up here alone.

Okay, so not completely. She's in my head, and in my heart. I hear songs on the radio in the Jeep that remind me o' her. She's a constant presence in my mind, almost a conscience, that tells me not ta do stupid shit. On the way up here I stopped at a truck stop; there was a guy there, big trucker kinda guy. Ya know what I mean. He wasn't big as in 'built' big, he was big as in too-many-stops-at-fast-food-joints big. Smelled like a fast food joint, too. I could almost hear Jubes sayin' "Ewww!" while holdin' her little nose.

Anyway, the guy probably thought a guy on a bike was easy ta bully, so he picked a fight with me. I woulda risen ta the occasion…was 'bout ta…when I realized what Jubes would say if I came home with half my clothes ripped up. See, Jean's makin' Jubes learn how ta do laundry…and the kid knows how I hate doin' women's work like that…so she offered ta do mine too. I accepted, an' suddenly I started getting' earfuls 'bout what my clothes looked like, got questions 'bout what happened ta some shirt she liked seein' on me, got ragged on 'bout grease on my clothes after I finished workin' on my Harley. I almost made her stop doin' my stuff…she nags worse'n Ro when she offers ta do my clothes (which ain't often) but when I snapped at her she got real quiet like, an' I could tell she was hurt. After that, I started keepin' a few sets o' old clothes fer workin' in an' givin' her the 'nice' stuff fer her ta wash. She stopped naggin' at me an' even learned ta sew from 'Ro so she could fix them damn buttons that keep poppin' off.

But Jubilee ain't just in my head. I carry a little bit o' her with me wherever I go. A while back, back when that Skrull impostor o' me got foun' out and died an' they found out I was alive…Irish told me she was feelin' a little off-balance 'bout the while affair, an' ta relieve her feelin's she sat down an' wrote me a letter. Not one o' them long, gabby things that she usually writes, a letter that takes two whole pages ta say nothin' at all. She kinda poured her heart out ta me in the letter. When I got back, Jean gave me the letter. Honestly, I don't think Jubilee meant me to see it, but Jean thought I should. And I'm glad for that telepathic intuition. I read it, then went ta find her an' we spent an entire week on a cross-country trip to Los Angeles so she could see her old stomping grounds. An' though she don't know it, I carry it everywhere with me.

I dig my wallet outta my back pocket an' open it. Inside, behind the billfold, is a sheet of paper, folded into a small square and tucked where I'll be able ta see it an' touch it when I need to. It's my letter.

I open it carefully. It's been folded back and forward, so many times over an' over that little tears in the paper have opened up along the crease lines. But the handwriting sticks out, as bold as ever, done in Jubilee's sloppy scrawl but holding a lot more meaning than any of the other bits of notes I've ever gotten from her.

_Logan,_

_Well, pal, where to start?_

_When we first met, I'll admit, I was scared stupid. Here was this guy who had just pulled himself off a crucifix and he was asking for my help. Me. But you trusted me…depended on me as we made our escape from Pierce and his Reavers. We made it out of there, but that excursion was just the tip of the iceberg…for the first time since my parents' death I felt like I was a part of something that had been missing from my life…a family. And I can't thank you enough for that. I've seen so much, much more than I would have ever thought possible. Heck, as far as I was concerned, I didn't care if I ever set foot outside a shopping mall again until I fell in with you and the X-Men. I didn't really have any ambitions beyond finding my next meal and decorating myself in the season's latest fashions. That all changed because of you, Wolvie. Not only have I seen the world…and beyond…but I'm getting an education and learning the full extent of my mutant powers. Not bad for a former mallrat. Thinking you were dead was the worst thing emotionally I've had to deal with since my parents' death. I'd almost forgotten how much it hurts. Now I know you're out there…somewhere…_

_Well, it eases the pain somewhat, but until you come back to me, to the X-Men, it won't completely go away. I miss you, Wolvie. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Come back home soon. Please. _

_Love, _

_Jubilee._

I never could resist the kid when she begs. Even when I can't see her, I still can't resist. I have a lot of memories of her, little mental 'snapshots' taken at odd times, like screen captures of a movie sold as publicity shots. This particular mental snapshot is of her standin' there, her fingers laced under her chin, her blue eyes filled with that sad-eager-puppy look she's too damn good at making. She's beggin' me to come home…and inside I can feel that little pulling tug at my heart, and I know I'll pack tonight and head out tomorrow morning. I'm gonna cut my 'vacation' short cause I know she wants me to come home. And knowing someone wants me, needs me, gives me the warmest, fuzziest feeling around my heart that I've ever had.

And if you ever tell anyone that, you won't see the next sunrise. I have to maintain the badass image; I can't be associated with 'warm and fuzzy'. Not me. So I reach down to fold up the paper, tuck it back in my wallet until the next time I need reassurance that I'm not alone.

The paper tears.

It's an inevitable result of time and too many times being folded in the exact same way, but I still curse myself for my clumsiness as I catch the lower third of the paper before it hits the muddy ground. I try to piece the two bits together, suddenly noticing the fact that the upper half of the paper has also developed some hair-thin tears along its fold line. And as I turn it over, to see better, I notice something more alarming.

The ink hadn't dried completely when Jubilee had touched it to do…whatever…to it. Some of the ink had gotten on her thumb, and then when she touched the paper the print of her thumb was left on it, another small piece of something uniquely her, in ink. I knew it was there but the words on the front of the page usually captured my attention first. Now I see that her thumbprint too is wearing away, slowly but surely, through repeated handling and a lot of wear and tear, being shoved in and out of my wallet.

Panic seizes me, an' I rush into the cabin. There has to be some way of preservin' it, keeping it from wearin' away anymore…Maybe some'a them sheets o' clear plastic Jean and 'Ro use to cover some of the more well-read books in Chuck's library? The sheets have this sticky stuff on the back, and it's preserved a lot o' Chuck's books…but I don't have any o' that here, and I need somethin' fast. I can't risk losing any part of this letter. It would be like losin' a bit of what holds me to my anchor; Jubes.

Tape. Clear tape. That'll work. I don't know if there's enough left on this roll in the drawer, but at least I could patch the letter up? I pull a long strip off the roll, place it at the top edge of the paper, and then carefully press it down until it reaches the bottom of the paper, binding the loose bottom third of the letter to its top two-thirds. I go slow, 'cause if a bubble of air gets under the tape, I can't pull it off and try again; it will tear the paper. It's so fragile, such a small thing, but so important…

There is almost enough tape on the roll to cover the entire letter, back and front. I'm lucky this is a smaller-than-average sized sheet of paper; more writing-tablet sized than notebook paper-sized. If it was I'd have only been able to cover the front. As it is, a small corner of the back, about two square centimeters, is left uncovered because I ran out of tape. But there's nothing important on that little bit. The important parts, the words and Jubilee's partial fingerprint, are safely encased in clear tape. It's not much, but it's the best I can do. It's not quite laminate, but its close, and I can still fold the paper. I do so, my fingers folding down the tape-covered paper, putting fresh creases in the still-stiff tape. After a few foldings, that stiffness wears out and I can fold it carefully and tuck it into the wallet.

Her eyes light up as she sees me. I'll never be able to get over it; before she sees me, before she knows I'm there, she's okay…but as soon as she sees me, she becomes radiant. Her eyes take on a whole new intense sparkle, and she flies across the kitchen, squeals and jumps into my arms. I can almost hear her heart sing as she asks her customary question, with a happy laugh in her voice, "Where've you been, Wolvie?" I love hearin' that squeal, that giggle, an' smell the bubblegum-and-fresh-little-girl smell on her. An' of course, she knows I like it, which is why she says it. An unspoken rule that no one but us understands.

Then, of course, the chatter starts. "Oh my God Wolvie you would not _believe_ how much fun Paige and I had at the spa the day after you left it was like so fantastic and everybody was real nice and oh look I got my nails done! I wanted the blue polish but Paige said the pink would go better with the new outfit I just bought and so I said I wanted the pink and she was right and don't you think it looks fantastic?" She waves her hands in front of me, and I see her fingernails are painted an eye-blindingly bright shade of bright reddish stuff that's just barely this side of pink. I open my mouth to give her my opinion of the color: not the honest truth, 'cause if I did she'd have tried to dent my head; women, I've learned, seem a little sensitive to male criticism of their choices in wardrobe and makeup. Especially Jubilee. Maybe 'cause if I had my way she'd wear one of those head-to-toe veils the women in Muslim countries wear. Or a nun's habit.

But her mouth is already runnin' off with her again, and again I'm surprised by how many words she can get out in one breath. She has incredible lung capacity. I'm sure she could rival Irish. "It was this neat little place in the Village that just opened up and they have a full service spa where you can like go and get a mud soak and a mud facial and get your hair done and your nails done and they show you how to do makeup for a makeover and everything and they give you massages but I didn't need one so I got my toenails done while Paige was getting her massage and she said later that it was good but it was nothing like what Warren does to her—"

I wince. I didn't need that particular image in my head. I try to avoid thinkin' o any o' the team sexually; 'cept 'Ro, and Jean, 'cause that's different, but anybody else…no. ABSOLUTELY not.

"—so maybe next time I'll try it but I wanted to know if you'd like what they did first before I go back and get anything else done."

"It looks fine. Really, it does." I try to reassure her. "Jubes…a mud soak?" I'll never figure that one out. Jean and 'Ro get all pissy when me or the guys come in muddy, but they'll go to one of these places and pay to have mud put on them? "If ya wanna mud soak ya coulda asked. I coulda got ya all muddy." Maybe teaching her one of my favorite stealth tactics…

Jubilee looked at me like I was nuts. "Eww. Muddy as in mud out in the backyard? Yuck."

Now I'm really puzzled. "What's the difference?"

She gives me this 'you're-such-a-big-dumb-male-but-I-love-you' look and says condescendingly, "It's special mud."

"What's so special about it?" I'm really tryin' ta understand this one.

Another of those looks. "It's expensive."

All right, I give up. It's one of them things only a girl would understand, I guess. "You look great, Jubes."

She lets out a squeal that makes my ears want to crawl back inside my head. "I knew you'd like it Paige said you'd never notice but I told her you would and she would have to lend me her Matchbox Twenty CD if you did and now she has to lend it to me so I gotta tell her now—" she heads for the kitchen door at a run.

"…Jubes?"

She pauses, one hand on the doorknob. "Yeah Wolvie?"

"…no massages." I put a growl in my voice so she'll know I mean it. "Absolutely no massages."

"But why?" she pouts, but her eyes sparkle. She knows damn well why. I don't want anyone's hands on her, damnit!

"'Cause I said so." I try ta put more thunder in my voice, but her laugh takes the wind right outta my sails.

"I know, Wolvie." She bounces back, executes a perfect mount onto the tiled kitchen island in between us, and slides on her fanny across the island until she can give my cheek a quick peck. "I was just teasing. Of course I won't." She slides off the island and races for the door, which fortunately opens just as she gets to it 'cause I swear at the rate she was going she was gonna collide with the door itself. "Hey 'Ro!" she greets Storm on the other side of the door before poundin' up the stairs to go find her friend.

Ororo come in, sees me, smiles. "Greetings, Logan," she says quietly. "It is nice knowing you are back."

I smile at her warmly. The two people I most want to come back to the mansion to; and I see them both the minute I walk in. Ororo's greeting isn't as…jubilant…as Jubilee's is, but the feelings are no less genuine for her dignified reserve. Also, I wanted to ask her…

"Ya got any o' them sheets o' clear sticky plastic ya use ta cover Chuck's books?"

"Clear contact paper? Yes, I believe we do. What do you need it for?" For answer, I dig Jubilee's letter out of my wallet and hand it to her. I see the corners o' her mouth twitch at the clumsy coatin' of tape, but amusement turns to somethin' else, somethin' deeper, as she sees the name at the bottom of the letter. "Logan…" her voice is soft. "You carry this around with you?"

"Yeah." I don't mind admittin' it to 'Ro; she'd understand like no one else ever has, except maybe Jean.

"Jubilee would be pleased that something she did impulsively would mean so much to you." Ororo busies herself opening a kitchen drawer and taking out a partial roll of the stuff and a pair of scissors. "I understand your need to keep a part of her close to you, but would not such a fragile item be better tucked away somewhere where nothing could happen to it?"

"What could happen?" and even as I say it, I think of the soggy wad of bills in my wallet. I was hiking the forest and came across a stream that was just wide enough and deep enough to make me hesitate to enter it. Instead of wading or swimming (which I hate because the adamantium weighs me down) I tried to walk on an old log stretched across the stream. It didn't hold up under my weight, and I ended up in the water anyway. Not my first time in the water, either. I realize now I've been lucky. Jubes' letter has gotten wet like that before, and the ink's never run. Who's to say that lucky streak'd continue? Even with the plastic? Wouldn't the sticky stuff come off eventually? "Yeah, I see yer point."

Ororo was busy cuttin' and peelin' paper while I was thinkin', and now she pressed the letter firmly between the two halves of contact paper and handed it to me. "Tuck it away, Logan. And don't let anything happen to it." I stare at the paper for a long time, wonderin' where I'm gonna put it, what I could do with it. When I finally look back up, 'Ro's gone. My eyes are drawn downward to a small square of paper on the counter, which I find is covered in more of the plastic stuff when I pick it up. There's only one line of words on it:

_Logan: _

_I love you. We all love you._

_Ororo_

Wonderin' if that's all, I turn it over. There, on the lower edge of the paper, Ororo's written in the smallest, neatest handwriting I've ever seen:

_To be replaced by another when necessary._

I start to chuckle. 'Ro don't look like it, but she's got a wicked sense of humor. And it comes out at the times when ya least expect it, when she thinks ya need some cheerin' up. I got a streak of that myself, but she's got it worse'n I do…an' hides it most of the time.

The plastic-covered paper fits neatly in my billfold with no foldin'. Perfect. I look at Jubilee's letter in my hand, now preserved for as long as the plastic survives, and smile as I head upstairs ta drop off my duffle. I'll tuck it in the traveling pocket of my duffle bag; it's waterproof, and there ain't nothin' else in it. It will do.

I pass Jubilee's room on my way, and I hear her and Paige gigglin' in there. Smilin' to myself, I open her door quickly, startling her, and growl, "No massages!" before shutting the door just as quickly. There's a slight pause, and then a wave of hysterical female giggles rolls out from the other side of the door, bringing a smile to my face as I head for my own room.

Yep, I'm home.


End file.
